


Homecoming

by feeisamarshmallow



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: A little, And a lot of healing, Angst, Episode: s05e02 The Big House Pt. 2, Episode: s05e03 Kicks, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, and the rest of the squad in the background, some - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeisamarshmallow/pseuds/feeisamarshmallow
Summary: Jake and Rosa come home from prison. They work through their experiences and put their lives back together. Connected oneshots.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look whose starting another fic (without finishing the other two she's currently working on)!! I don't know why the muse has hit me so hard for fics about Jake & Rosa in prison, but here we are. I wrote a lot of this like a year ago while it was still airing, but it took me forever to figure out how I wanted to structure it. Hope you enjoy! (come rave about how much you love b99 with me on tumblr: @feeisamarshmallow)

_Jake_

Jake is trying to think of a time when he felt worse. Surely when he thought he was going to die at the hands of Jimmy Figgis. Or when he got shot. Or maybe all the time he spent alone crying while undercover. Definitely the time he got hit by a car. (God when did his life actually start sounding like an action movie?) But his mind comes up blank. At least all of the other times he had been in mortal danger he would’ve died an innocent man. Respected by his fellow officers. Surrounded by his friends and family. Fuck he’s going to die in prison and his only friend is a cannibal.

He’s still jumpy from the comedown after the meth. He can’t sit still, his thoughts bouncing around his head on warp speed. And no matter how much he tells himself firmly, pleadingly, threateningly, that he isn’t going to take it again (that he couldn’t, the warden has confiscated the stash after all), all he can think about is how much he wants to feel the high again. And besides, a voice in his head tells him, if he’s going to die in this prison, what does it matter if he dies addicted to meth?

He’s restless and so he’s pacing in his cell feeling terror and hopelessness and cravings and nothingness in rapid succession. Finally he figures he better try to make some sort of weapon, so at least when he dies he can go down in a fight. (A sad voice reminds him of his joke with Charles, that he was going to die spectacularly in the line of duty and Charles would take his own life at the funeral. Now he feels that to joke about suicide is inappropriate. His time with the squad feels like a lifetime away.) 

Suddenly, the warden appears behind him. “Peralta!”

Jake jumps, startled, and throws his poor excuse of a shiv across the room. He’s still injured from his beating a few weeks ago, and the invulnerability of being high did nothing to help his broken ribs and bruised…everything. He’s trying to hide his pain, casually crossing an arm across his stomach, so much that he almost misses the warden’s next words.

“Your squad busted Melanie Hawkins.”

“What?” He’s hallucinating. This has to be a dream. Maybe Romero has already busted into his cell, castrated him, and kicked him to death, and this is what comes next. Or, is meth a hallucinogenic? He really should know that. But he’s not on meth right now. Or, a voice says, is that just what he thinks?

“You’re getting out.” The guard is terse, as if he doesn’t really believe that Jake could be innocent. “Come with me.”

“Okay.” Jake hears himself say. He definitely doesn’t think this is reality, but it’s better than the painful death he was expecting a mere ten minutes ago, so he’ll take it. His eyes swing around his cell, suddenly aware that on the miniscule chance he really is getting out, this may be the last time he ever sees it. Then his eyes stop on Caleb’s bunk, empty for the past 24 hours he’s been in the infirmary.

“Wait,” Jake says, feeling more grounded in reality (at least, he can actually feel the concrete under his feet now, which is a good start). “Can I do one thing first?” He has to say goodbye to Caleb, questionable life decisions or not, the man did save his life.

~

_Rosa_

Rosa is sitting in her bunk, scowling, watching the gate to her cell with a singular precision. It’s how she spends every evening. It sends the message that no one is going to get anything past her, and so far it has worked. Elena, the Latina with the long braids who helped Rosa start the first riot, nods briskly as she passes, escorted by a guard. Rosa is bored out of her skull, but refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing (and refuses to turn her attention away from the doorway). Suddenly, the guard is at her cell, addressing her curtly.

“Diaz, get a move on. You’re getting out.”

“What?” Rosa’s snaps her head up and raises her voice half an octave.

The guard looks impatient though, so she wastes no time getting up and following him. “Did they catch Melanie Hawkins?” She knows she should just keep quiet until she’s out of the prison for good, but there’s a giddiness rising in her chest, and although she can’t quite trust it yet, it feels good.

“I don’t know.” The guard says shortly, he’s a burly white man with silver wiry mustache and a faint odour of tuna.

None of the staff at the Connecticut Woman’s Correctional Centre seem to know or care why Rosa is getting out, and she can barely stand it. They treat her with indifference and cursory respect, she figures because she’s not an inmate anymore. There’s endless paperwork, and waiting, and people talking about her in hushed voices that she can’t quite hear and god Rosa will be so happy once she, and she alone, is in charge of her life again.

Even though on the outside Rosa is calm, on the inside she has this tight, on-edge feeling in her chest. She doesn’t quite believe this is happening to her. Doesn’t believe that within the next 24 hours she’ll be changing out of her drab blue jumpsuit. Doesn’t want to even think that there might be someone waiting on the outside to receive her. Rosa’s not sure whether the anxiety lodged next to her heart is in anticipation of getting out, or in fear of not being able to leave, of having freedom ripped from under her feet again.

She’s been sitting in this poorly-lit room with dirty white walls for hours, by her very accurate estimate. Everyone once in a while, a guard or prison correctional official comes in to ask her a question, to take her ID bracelet, or even just to stare her down. And finally, yet another guard, this one a woman, also white with brown hair pulled into a severe ponytail, leads her down another dark hallway. She gets Rosa to sign a paper, lets her change into street clothes and hands Rosa back her phone.

It’s all done without fanfare. And so Rosa follows along with the same neutral expression schooled on her face, but inside the giddiness is turning to utter joy and relief. This is really happening, she really is getting out today. Rosa thinks she can hold it together, until the guards escort her down another hallway, and through a set of doors, and all of a sudden Captain Holt is there. Uniform immaculate, standing poker-straight in the centre of the room, as if he refused to sit in the uneven row of plastic chairs.

Rosa meets Captain Holt’s eyes. She’s never seen emotion written so plainly on his face, and then she abruptly bursts into tears. Holt reaches out to her, and they embrace, and Rosa’s pretty sure he’s crying now too. They stay that way, until the guard clears her throat and suggests they leave. Rosa and Captain Holt break apart, and he shakes her hand. “Diaz, glad to have you back.”

“Thank you, Sir. Glad to be back.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Rosa come home. And try to adjust.

_Jake_

Amy is waiting for Jake when he is finally escorted through the doors of the Jericho Men’s Correctional Centre. She is sitting, dressed like she would for work, but without her badge and gun. Her eyes are trained on a paperback, though Jake would bet all of his nonexistent savings that she isn’t even focussed on the page. She looks up when Jake walks into the room, and they move towards each other, drawn as if by a magnet.

One half of Jake is fully present in the moment. His reality consumed by the feeling of Amy’s hair against his neck and the weight of her head against his shoulder. He’s wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her close to his chest, and he can feel the elevated rhythm of her pulse as she presses against him.

But the other half of him feels like he’s watching their reunion from afar. Like this is someone else’s happy moment. There’s a small part of Jake’s brain that is still convinced he’s actually dead and this is just a dream created by his final synapses firing. Jake feels like he should be enjoying the moment more, like he should be crying tears of relief and joy, but part of him is stuck, can’t believe this is real. (And a tiny insistent voice is still craving another high, and an even more insidious voice is wondering if that would make him able to feel fully again).

And then Jake really is crying. Not because he’s relieved to be out of prison, but because he doesn’t feel relief. Amy has tears glinting in her eyes, but she’s holding it together remarkably well for someone who once worried herself sick about the prospect of a dinner party with her boss.

“Babe,” Amy is running her fingers through his hair. “I’m here, you’re here, we’re okay.”

“Is this really happening?” he finally chokes out, and hears the blatant vulnerability in his tone. 

“It’s really happening.” Amy nods, and then the tears start to flow down her cheeks as well. She pulls him back into an embrace, her hands tracing small circles on his back. 

They stand there awhile, and Jake lets the soothing motion ground him. Finally they walk out into the South Carolina sun, and everything feels brighter and sharper, so much so that Jake has to squint a little. Amy keeps her hand on the small of Jake’s back, and he takes her other hand in his, so they can continue to be near each other as they get into Amy’s rental car and head back to the hotel room she’s booked. 

They’re silent on the drive back. It’s like Amy can sense that Jake doesn’t know how to put all his racing and confusing thoughts into words. 

“Do you want to pick the music?” Amy looks over at him from the driver’s seat.

“I won’t know any of the songs on the radio,” he gives her a trace of a smile. 

And Amy knows him so well. Knows the way that humour is his lifeline. So she grabs onto the thread of a joke, builds it up and tosses it back at him. “You were only gone six months. I know the industry is all about chart-topping singles these days, but I’m sure you’ll still recognize a few.”

“Face it Ames, my days a music buff are over,” he says with pretend despondency.

She laughs, involuntarily, because it feels so right, so normal to be sitting in the driver’s seat next to Jake cracking jokes. Then his laughter joins hers, and who cares if it’s a little bit hysterical, because they’re together and they’re smiling and that means it’s going to be okay. 

~

_Rosa_

Rosa receives the first phone call the day she moves back into her New York apartment. A calm, female reporter asks to speak with Ms. Rosa Diaz, and when Rosa grunts in recognition, the woman asks if she’d like to be interviewed about her experiences as a wrongly convicted cop in the now national New York bank robbery story. Rosa doesn’t know what to say. She stands in silence for a beat before throwing her cell phone on the ground, face down, smashing the glass screen against the tile. Before she can stop herself, she’s rifling through her coat closet for her sledgehammer and decimating her old phone.

Aside from the necessary legal meetings, Holt has told Rosa to take at least a week to readjust, before worrying about the process of behind rehired and reassigned to her role at the Nine-Nine. Rosa is surprised at how overwhelming the city has become. Everywhere she looks there are people, cars, bright flashing signs. It feels like it has been years since her senses were overwhelmed like this, even though she logically knows it has only been six months.

Rosa has decided to redecorate her whole apartment. Partly because she finds the process of interior design meditative, partly because one night she got angry that the anxious feeling in her chest kept her from sleeping and she threw all the plates she owned against the wall. She also ruined the wallpaper and had her to eat all her meals out of soup bowls until she replaced them. She’s walking up and down aisles at Homesense, headphones in and Snow Tha Product turned up loud in her ears when her phone vibrates in her pocket. She has to set down two throw pillows she has been comparing to switch off her music and answer the phone.

“Hello, am I speaking to Ms. Rosa Diaz?” This time, Rosa is prepared.

“I’m sorry,” she raises her voice a full octave, “this is Emily Goldfinch. I don’t know a Rosa.” She’s hoping that the reporter, or newscaster, or whoever the man is on the other line, will give up easily, but she’s not that lucky.

“I’m sorry,” he sounds irritated, “I’m sure this is her number.” She knew it was a mistake to keep her old number when she replaced her phone. “She was a Detective with the NYPD, wrongfully convicted of armed robbery and just released from prison. It was a real high profile case, sure you don’t know her?” 

The way he flippantly lays out the story of Rosa’s life for the past six months has her seeing red in the decorative pillow aisle. 

“Go to hell.” Rosa snarls into the phone, her voice returned to normal. She smashes the end call button, and narrowly stops herself from destroying this phone too, but she hadn’t budgeted for any more destruction this month. (Rosa may not be as avid a planner as Amy, but she could budget with the best of them).

It happens again and again. She sees her face on the front of a newspaper at the grocery store checkout, the photo they took after she received her medal of honour two years ago, clad in her dress uniform. She knows she should just ignore it, but she can’t help grabbing it off the shelf and adding it to her basket. The cashier gives her a funny look, as if maybe she has recognized that Rosa is the person in the photo, but Rosa fixes her with a glare, and the cashier doesn’t even say as much as ‘have a nice day’. Just sort of nods and lets Rosa go. 

Rosa has been keeping to herself. She knows she should reach out, tell Captain Holt, or maybe Adrian. Definitely she should talk to her lawyer. But instead when Adrian calls she insists on going to his place, even though it’s tiny and dingy and always smells faintly of metal and chemicals, like someone bled out on the floor and another person came along and cleaned it up with bleach. Which with Adrian is a distinct possibility. But Rosa for some reason doesn’t want Adrian in her apartment, it’s her sanctuary. And really, increasingly she hasn’t wanted Adrian around at all. (Except for their sex, they have really awesome sex).

It’s the same with Captain Holt. She knows she should tell him that she’s having doubts about coming back to the precinct. That sometimes, abruptly, she’ll feel anger or anxiety rise in her chest and she’s powerless except to wait it out. She should definitely bring up the way reporters won’t leave her alone and every time she relives the utter despair and hopelessness she felt while incarcerated.

She’ll work up to it, Rosa tells herself. She finds it hard to talk about normal-people subjects, like her family or her career or her interests. How on earth could she ever begin to untangle her experiences, her emotions about prison? She knows, deep down inside, that she’ll have to. But until then, she’ll stick to her own personal therapy, a combination of interior design, kickboxing, and yoga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! (I have so many feelings about this show). Come say hi on tumblr if you want (@feeisamarshmallow). And Happy New Year!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy spend time together. Rosa goes back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My love for h/c fic came out in this chapter lol. All parts are written- I should have the fourth and final part up on the weekend or early next week. Thanks for following along!

_Jake_

They’re lying next to each other, and the hotel bed feels almost too soft after the weeks of the thin prison mattress. Jake rests his head on Amy shoulders, their fingers intertwined. Amy has one arm wrapped around Jake, and is slowly running her fingers through his hair. There is intimacy between them, it’s not sexual, but something deeper than that. They don’t speak, just lie there in the low light, listening to the sounds of cars pass their window. Occasionally, Amy lets a tear run down her cheek, and Jake reaches up to wipe it. Hours pass, and Jake and Amy bask in the fact that there is no limit to the amount of time they can spend like this, silent, skin touching skin, basking in being with each other.

Eventually, Jake murmurs, “I think I should probably shower, I stink.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Amy mumbles back.

“I really think I should.” He moves to untangle himself from Amy’s arms, but something about the awkward position catches his still-healing ribs wrong, and pain shoots through his chest. Jake flops back down, catching Amy hard in the shoulder, and writhes in pain. Amy lets out a small shout in surprise.

“Are you okay?” Amy reaches up to touch the place where his head collided with her shoulder.

Jake nods, and take a few shallow breaths in and out. “It’s old,” he grinds out.

Amy had noticed him flinching when she hugged him too tightly, but she had figured that was just his reaction to the trauma of prison. She had decided that drawing attention to it would only make Jake feel bad. But now it occurs to Amy that maybe he’s injured and she starts berating herself that she didn’t notice sooner.

Jake hasn’t moved from his position sprawled on the bed, but he’s moved his arm up to cradle the left side of his chest.

“Can I see?’ Amy asks quietly.

Jake hesitates a moment, and then nods. Amy gently takes his arms and places it back at his side. Then she carefully lifts up his shirt. Jake’s watching her with a look of complete vulnerability, and Amy doesn’t know whether to feel warmth at the trust he has in her, or sadness that Jake is this wholly worn down. Amy can’t help but gasp when she sees the bruising splashed across his chest, reaching around to his back. It’s dark purple, fading to green at the edges, deep bruising concentrated across his ribs.

“Jake! Why didn’t you tell me?” It ends up sounding accusatory, instead of horrified, and Amy sees Jake shrink against the white duvet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Amy corrects, it doesn’t matter what has happened. Amy can’t change that, but she can do something about it.

“Let me take care of you?” Amy asks quietly.

And Jake looks at her with such love when he nods. “God I missed you so much.” 

“Let’s get you up babe, so I can take your shirt off.” 

“Title of your sextape?” Jake grins.

Amy allows herself a small laugh. She bends down to put her arm behind his shoulders and help him sit upright.

“Ames, it’s really okay.” Jake grabs her arm, “I’ve been taking care of it okay.”

“I know.” She stops and looks him in the eye, “but now you don’t have to.” She pauses, “can you lift your arms up?” 

“Do you mean without pain? Or am I physically capable of moving my arms?” 

“Without pain, you idiot.”

“Amy my whole body is in pain.” 

“But it doesn’t have to be any more.”

She slowly peels off his t-shirt, manoeuvring so Jake only has to move his arms and chest a minimal amount. 

“Did you get this looked at?” Amy asks.

“Not really,” Jake looks away, evading her question.

“Jake,” Amy moves to meet his gaze. 

“No,” he sighs. “Sometimes going to the medics just made it worse.” 

Amy leaves it at that. She knows Jake doesn’t like medical professionals in the best of times, so she can understand why he didn’t. She presses gently on his chest, and he flinches hard.

“I think your ribs are probably broken. Considering it’s a repeat injury, you really should get it looked at.” 

Jake nods.

“How’s your breathing? Is it hard to breathe?” Amy’s trying not to spiral into complete first responder mode, but the other option is concerned girlfriend mode, and that one involves a lot more tears and irrational anger. 

“A little, but not too bad. Hurts to take deep breaths, but not as bad as that time I got ran over.” Jake grins, a little goofy and a little sad at the same time.

“That’s not the greatest metric to measure it by.” Amy says wryly. “Let me see your back, can you move forward?” She hands him a pillow and guides him forward.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. His back is just as bruised, if not worse, than his chest. 

“I think it looks worse now than before,” Jake offers. “It actually hurt worse a week ago.” 

“That’s true, often bruises look nastier as they heal. That doesn’t get you out of going to the doctors though.” 

She runs her hands over his back, just as she had his chest, checking for swelling. 

“This might be a bruised kidney,” Amy gently touches a deep purple bruise on his lower back. 

“That would explain it.” Jake’s voice is a little strained. 

“I don’t think anything needs imminent medical attention, but you should definitely see a doctor and get some x-rays done.” Amy eases Jake back against the pile of pillows.

“I’ll get you some Tylenol and then we’ll take a shower.” 

“We?” Jake raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’m not sure if you’re physically up to what your face seems to be suggesting,” Amy teases. 

Jake keeps wiggling his eyebrows at her until she sits back on the bed and collapses into laughter. 

“Stop it!” She laughs, “I still have one more question.” 

“Did I ever tell you I find medical examiner Amy hot?” 

Amy can feel herself blushing, feel the blood rushing up her neck and into her cheeks. 

“Did you have any concussion symptoms?” She pulls herself back together. 

“So hot.” Jake grins.

But Amy knows he’s avoiding her question. 

“Jake, you also have a history of concussions.” Amy tries to look at him as sternly as possible, but he’s looking at her with adoration and love. His eyes are a deep brown in the low light, his hair grown out enough to see the beginnings of curls at his forehead. “Let me take care of you, remember?” 

He sighs. “Yes.” He pauses again, “I had the whole package, dizzy, nauseous, migraine.” 

Amy’s heart clenches at the thought of Jake, alone in prison, dealing with concussion symptoms and broken ribs and bruised everything all by himself. 

“And how are you now?” she prompts. 

“Still a little dizzy. Light bugs me a little bit, but better. I have a thick skull.”

“And I’m thankful for you and your thick head.” Amy leans towards him to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Shower and then I’ll get some ice for your ribs, they’re still a little swollen.”

“Ames,” he stops, but there’s an urgency in his eyes. “I love you, so much. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be waiting for me to get out of prison.” 

“I love you so much too.” 

~

_Rosa_

For all the anxiety Rosa had at the thought of returning to the precinct, she adjusts remarkably well. She had expected things to be hard, and while they are, having work to do actually helps ground her. Sitting around in her apartment gave her nothing but time to think about prison. Brushing her teeth in the morning and she thinks about Elena. How they never really talked. How Rosa is out but Elena is still there in that alternate-reality hell of a place. Eating breakfast and remembering how the butter in prison is neither butter nor margarine but some sort of unique oil-based substance engineered uniquely for punishment.

It’s weird how her life has changed completely. And yet life at the Connecticut Women’s Correctional Centre marches on. So, too, did life at the Nine-Nine.

Things are different. They repainted the lines in the parking lot. They’re so yellow and bright and straight. Amy must have been so happy about them, Rosa thinks. Their computer system has updated. Now the desktop background is grey instead of blue. 

But things are the same, too. Same signs on the cupboards in the staff kitchen. Keep this kitchen as tidy as you would at home. Please wash your own dishes. The printer still jams. Rosa punches it again, and the other cops in the room turn to look at her, and then turn back around because her reaction is so routine. 

Her first day back Holt calls Rosa into his office. 

“Detective Diaz, Welcome Back.” 

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Please, have a seat. There are some papers for you to sign.” Holt slides some forms in a manila folder and a pen across the desk. 

Rosa picks up then pen and Holt speaks again. 

“You will be on desk duty until you are cleared by a medical professional and a psychologist, but otherwise, you are officially rehired as a Detective at the Ninety-Ninth Precinct.”

Rosa has a feeling he purposefully slipped in the pysch eval while she was busy signing the papers, but she doesn’t care because it feels so good to be back. To feel in control of her life as she signs the paper. Not because she is required by law to sign her name, but because she wants to. 

“Thank you, Sir.” Rosa pauses, “I appreciate it.” 

Captain Holt shakes her hand. It’s completely professional, his face completely stoic, yet Rosa thinks she feels him squeeze a little bit harder at the end. 

She squeezes his hand back.

Three weeks later and she’s sitting at her desk, filling out paperwork. She understands why, now, that Amy loves it so much. It fills up her brain and rids her of anxious thoughts in a way that nothing else does. She wants to tell Amy this, but she doesn’t know how. It’s not really her style. Instead she buys Amy new pens and leaves them on her desk one night after Amy has left (Rosa waits forever for Amy to leave. The night cleaners and the night shift have arrived before Amy finally goes. Rosa’s not mad though. It’s the first night she’s able to truly distract herself with Say Yes to the Dress while she eats a late dinner. The first night she falls asleep as soon as she goes to bed). 

She knows she’ll have to do some soul-searching. She still goes home at night and thinks about Elena. Thinks about her cellmate Lexi, who hated Rosa and talked incessantly about her kids back home. She thinks about the twenty one year old she put away for dealing drugs last year. She thinks about police work as a whole. She thinks about her place in it. She wonders if she ever put away someone innocent. 

But right now, the paperwork and the evidence room inventories are soothing. And her psychologist did tell her, “You have time Rosa. You don’t have to figure everything out. You don’t have to get better all at once. You just have to keep going.” Her name is Valerie. Rosa tells Valerie she prefers the name Emily. Rosa may hate talking about her feelings, but it turns out Emily Goldfinch has a lot to say about hers. Valerie is honestly pretty dope. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Rosa finally have a chance to really talk with one another.

_Jake & Rosa_

Jake has just finished telling Captain Holt that we wants to stay on desk duty, when Rosa catches his eye with a subtle nod. They haven’t really talked much. Too much to say, and no way to say it. Too busy with the logistics of returning to their lives, their girlfriends and boyfriends, their jobs. Too painful to dredge up the memories and bring them alive with words.

Jake returns the nod, and wonders if she heard his conversation with Captain Holt. He doesn’t think it’s possible, but Rosa has a multitude of surprising skills. It’s more likely, though, that Rosa just _knows_ what Jake told the Captain.

He sits back down at his desk, and pulls out his phone. Not exactly professional, but he needs something to distract him from the shame of asking Captain Holt for more desk duty. If he doesn’t distract himself, he’ll just think about it all again and again. What if that guy really was innocent? Jake knows they have definitive evidence against him, but then again, so did the jury that convicted him and Rosa. How can he ever know the truth? Should he leave the force? But then another cop, a worse cop could just take his place. Captain Holt is right—it does make him a better detective. Is anyone a good detective though? Around and around and around.

So Jake takes out his phone. He needs something to stop his brain. He has a text from Rosa. Which is odd, Rosa rarely texts anyone, and never anything more than necessary. 

Rosa: “Gonna go for a beer tonight. Kinda a solitary thing. You in?” 

God Rosa knows just how to approach the enormity of their experiences. 

Jake: “Sure.” 

Jake tells Amy, and he loves her so much because she knows exactly why it’s so important that he go out with Rosa. She kisses him in the hallway after they finish their shift, and he pulls her into a hug. Amy takes the car home and Jake reassures her that he’ll find his way home, and won’t be too late. 

Rosa is waiting in the parking lot. 

“’Sup.” She nods at Jake again. 

“Heyy Rosa.” They start walking, Jake notices Rosa starts out in the opposite direction from Shaw’s. Good, he didn’t want to go anywhere where they might run into someone they know. “How’s the desk duty treating you?” 

Rosa shrugs. “Paperwork’s surprisingly satisfying.”

“That’s good to know. Cuz I just told Holt I wanted more of it. Must be crazy right?” Jake laughs, a little animatedly. 

He knows he’d babbling because he feels uncomfortable. Not because he’s with Rosa, but because he knows that she knows exactly how he feels. It’s a sense of vulnerability both comforting and terrifying. They get to the bar and order a drink. It’s a dingy little establishment, a similar vibe to Shaw’s but a few blocks further away. Rosa sits, nursing her beer for a bit. Jake fiddles with the label on his bottle, rolling, and unrolling it. 

“It’s weird, man.” Rosa starts. “Being back at the 99 is both easier and harder.” 

That’s all she says. But it encompasses so much more, and Jake feels like he’s going to tear up, hearing Rosa put into words the way he’s been feeling the last few weeks. 

“No doubt, no doubt.” Jake says under his breath. “Sorta like a fever dream. Or an alternate universe. Or like, when Captain America wakes up after being frozen in that ice block and New York City is all modern and he’s all woah. Except we weren’t frozen in ice. And we’re not from the 1940s.” 

“Ha. It’s totally like that.” 

“Do you think we ever put away anyone innocent?” 

“Honestly?” Rosa turns to look at him. “We could have. We might not have. We’ll never know.”

“But doesn’t that drive you crazy? Like it’s all I can think about. It’s like I’m solving a case, but there’s no answer so I just follow the same loop of thinking over and over again and can never find an answer.” 

“Yeah. I get that.” Rosa thinks for a minute, then takes a deep breath. “Solitary is great a place to obsess over that shit. And a horrible place because it’s all you can think.”

“I’ll fucking drink to that. God this country is so fucking broken.” 

“You already did your psych eval, right?” Rosa says abruptly. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“How’d it go?”

“Weird, honestly. But I also lied. A lot. I just wanted to get back into the field. I didn’t really have the desk duty epiphany until today, ya know? But who needs therapy when you can just repress everything?” Jake motions with hands, as if he were physically pushing all his feelings off the bar. 

“I had a psych eval epiphany, you wanna hear it? I might have to kill you afterwards though.”

“Hit me, Detective Rosa Diaz, the scariest person I know.”

“It’s not all bullshit.” Rosa takes her eyes off of Jake after a few seconds and looks down at her drink.

“What?”

She looks up at Jake. It’s her “come on Jake you know this” face. 

“Ohhhhhh therapy. Psychologists. Cool cool cool. I’m just really not a talking about my feelings person.”

“Neither am I, Jake. But it helps. A thousand push ups, it’s helpful.

~

“Doesn’t the publicity drive you crazy?” Rosa asks. 

Jake shrugs. “Not really. It’s kinda cool, honestly, being in the paper and on the news. Correction—“ he holds his bottle out towards Rosa, “being in the paper and on the news because I’m innocent.” 

“I hate it. Makes me wanna punch someone.” 

“Probably shouldn’t punch the journalist. But you know, if they’re really being a dick, I might look the other way.”

“Dope.”

“Justice system is already fucked, sometimes you just gotta look out for your friends. 

~

“What’s the weirdest thing about prison?”

“Instant noodles are like, mad currency. What??”

“That’s a universal thing? Huh.”

“Also I got high off of soap that was actually meth. That was pretty fucking weird.” 

“I started a food fight by accident. Sounds cool. Really wasn’t. It was gross. And terrifying,” she adds quietly. 

“Sometimes I still think about getting high.”

“Sometimes I still have dreams about that fight.” 

Jake reaches over and puts his arm around Rosa in a half hug. She doesn’t pull away. 

~

“We should do this again.” Jake is standing at Rosa’s apartment door. (After swearing on his life that he will never, ever tell anyone where she lives.)

“Next week?”

Suddenly, there are tears in Jake’s eyes. And if he’s not mistaken, there are also tears in Rosa’s. 

They hug once more. 

“No one else I’d rather have gone to prison with.”

“No one.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end y'all. Thanks for following along! This felt so, good i guess, to write- there's something extremely cathartic about writing about characters putting themselves back together, instead of falling apart. Also I adore Jake and Rosa's friendship (and Jake and Amy's relationship, and Captain Holt, and pretty much just everyone on this show). This story fits in the same universe of a bunch of my other fics about Jake and Rosa's experiences in prison (Going to be Okay, We Don't Need a White Wedding and Field Day), now that i'm finished i might go back and officially make them a series on ao3. Tell me what you thought if you'd like-I really appreciate comments! 
> 
> Or come say hi on tumblr: @feeisamarshmallow


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